


then we’ll throw our coins down

by likebrightness



Category: Rookie Blue
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-02
Updated: 2014-01-02
Packaged: 2018-01-07 05:38:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,277
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1116159
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/likebrightness/pseuds/likebrightness
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p> <em>This is a dumb idea, a </em>terrible<em> idea, really.</em></p>
            </blockquote>





	then we’ll throw our coins down

**Author's Note:**

> Timeline: Post-“For Better, For Worse”  
> A/N: Thanks to brittspolitical for her help on this and for letting me flail in her askbox a lot.

-

She is so pissed at Sam. Monumentally pissed.

He would pick today to do this, of course he would. He couldn’t have done it the day  _ before  _ Nick declared his love for her—or, well, maybe not love, he didn’t say that, exactly, but it pretty much seemed like that’s what he was saying, just without like, actually using the word. She doesn’t want to assume, but, it really seemed like he was declaring his love, okay?—whatever, the point is: of course Sam would pick  _today_ to do this.

She seriously can’t believe him.

That doesn’t stop her from kissing him back with maybe too much enthusiasm, though. Like, seriously, a lot of enthusiasm. An embarrassing amount, if it weren’t overshadowed by the fact that he’s basically eating her face off (but like, in a good way).

This is a dumb idea, a  _terrible_ idea, really. It’s just also that it’s  _Sam_ , and…And nothing, really, that’s all she’s got. It’s Sam. What else is she supposed to do when he looks at her like that? She doesn’t even know how he got her back here—she didn’t show up with a jacket, but now she’s in the back of the coat check, against the wall, with Sam, one hand on her neck and the other pushing her dress up.

She thinks her heart is beating faster than it ever did undercover.

(It was Gail, she realizes, trying to focus on  _anything_ other than Sam’s hands and mouth. Gail was what got her into coat check; Andy’s been trying to be nice to her, and she was just sitting in here alone. So Andy asked what was up, and Gail said something rude and walked out.

That’s when Sam came in.

He said, “N’I talk to you for a minute?”, didn’t have time for the first syllable of the question, didn’t have time for her response, just pulled her by the hand behind a couple of coat racks and pushed her into the wall.)

It’s probably a good thing that Oliver comes in before it gets much further. The coats hide them, so it’s not like they’re truly caught in the act or anything, but they definitely spring apart. Sam’s pupils are huge. Oliver is loudly talking to Carrot or whatever that woman’s name is—Andy’s glad he’s having a good time, but seriously? Who names someone after a vegetable? He’s shouting about what her coat looks like, trying to find it. Sam runs his hands down his front like he’ll actually be able to get rid of the wrinkles where Andy’s fists had a death grip on his shirt. She still hasn’t caught her breath.

She closes her eyes as Oliver’s voice nears, really hopes he finds the freakin’ coat already, but he stumbles over a sentence, stutters, and when she opens her eyes again there he is, looking back and forth between her and Sam, mouth halfway between a smirk and a jaw drop. 

“Hey, guys,” he says, drawing out both words.

She can feel how red her face is, embarrassment and arousal both, honestly—her whole body is thrumming with it. Sam’s face has gone completely blank, that look he gets when a suspect’s talking, trying to figure out what they know—this passive, nothing-to-see-here face that usually makes the guy tell them more than he should. Oliver stopped looking shocked after about three seconds—his mouth is now 100% smirk. Andy would like to disappear into the coat racks, or the wall, or a gaping hole in the earth that would appear and swallow her up right now, she thinks, if there were a god.

“Enjoying the party?” Oliver says.

“Yup!” Her voice is approaching shrill. “Just heading out, though, actually. Some of us had to work a long day.”

She tries for teasing, tries for an overused, not very good joke. Shaw does laugh, but more at her than with her. At least it was him, she thinks as she flees without looking at Sam—who she’s still pissed at, by the way—and not someone like Dov, in which case the entire division would know within ten minutes.

*

If almost fucking Sam in the coat room at their staff sergeant’s wedding—seriously, her dress was up around her waist and his hand was  _in her underwear_ when Oliver interrupted—was a dumb idea, heading to Nick’s immediately afterward and kissing him as soon as he opens the door is probably worse.

Nick seems to think it’s great—he’s all  _smiley_ and almost laughing, like this is a joyful occasion, and Andy is probably the worst person in the entire world.

She  _likes_ Nick, she  _does_ , he’s been her best friend for six months. He’s this completely fantastic guy, she probably loves him even, but in the way she loves  _Traci_ and not in the way she loves—loved— _whatever_ —she doesn’t feel for Nick like she feels for Sam.

She’s also realizing just how much he doesn’t feel like Sam, physically. It’s not something she’d thought about before, but she can’t help it now. Kissing him is  _so_ different—softer, like he might break her instead of like they’ve already broken each other, over and over, like they can’t stop themselves from breaking each other. Nick is all lips and tongue where Sam was teeth. Andy’s neck still tingles with stubble burn, but Nick barely gets a five  _day_ shadow.

She feels  _desperate_ , and he’s being  _gentle._

Nick, because he’s Nick, because they’ve lived together for the past six months, because he knows her, he knows her well—Nick notices.

He says her name and she doesn’t respond, like maybe it’s just the heat of the moment.

“Andy, god, Andy.”

Yeah, she can totally pretend he’s just into her enough he’s saying her name. Really, he sounds  _concerned_ , but she’s ignoring that part. (Sam said her name a lot, the first time, even though she was supposed to be Candace, he said it a lot, like he couldn’t quite believe it was really her.) She puts everything she has into kissing Nick, keeping his mind elsewhere, but yeah. That does not work.

“Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” she says, and talking is maybe not a good thing, maybe puts this burn in her throat that she can’t quite swallow. “I just want—I want to do this.”

She tries for another kiss, but he dodges her. He gets both hands on her shoulders and holds her body away from his, stares at her face until she meets his eyes.

“I don’t know what’s going on,” he says slowly. “Can we talk for a minute?”

_ No _ , she thinks. She looks away and doesn’t reply. Sam’s grip is stronger. When he holds on to her like this, his grip is stronger. He holds tighter.

Nick shakes his head. “Okay well—I can’t—I’ll see you tomorrow, okay?”

For about five seconds she considers arguing, but the look on his face—it’s the look he had after they’d found out Gail hadn’t been suspended, and Andy asked if he was really sure he didn’t want to talk about it. It’s the look he had when she had a breakdown three weeks in, decided she wasn’t built for undercover, couldn’t do it. It’s the look he had with a hundred-degree fever when she tried to tell him he couldn’t go on an op.

She’s already learned not to waste her time when he’s made up his mind.

They hadn’t even closed the door, were too preoccupied to do more than push it halfway shut. When she leaves, she makes sure the latch clicks behind her.


End file.
